It was natural also that the heroic poems of Simonides should have appealed to both men, and of special interest to know the delight that Tennyson took in one of these, and perhaps because of the similarity shown by his own splendid lines in the "Duke of Wellington" Ode: He, that ever following her commands, On with toil of heart and knees and hands, Thro' the long gorge to the far light has won His path upward, and prevail'd, Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled Are close upon the shining table-lands To which our God Himself is moon and sun. [Greek: esti tis logos tan aretan naiein dysambatois epi petrais; hagnan de min thean chôron hagnon amphepein. oude pantôn blepharois thnatôn esoptos, ô mê dakethymos hidrôs endothen molê, hikê t' es akron andreias.] There is a tale That Valour dwells above the craggy peaks Hard, hard to scale, A goddess pure in a pure land, and none May see her face, Save those who by keen Toil and sweat have won That highest place, That goal of manhood. And with these heroic lines go the others on the men who fell at Thermopylae: [Greek: tôn en Thermopylais thanontôn eukleês men ha tycha, kalos d' ho potmos, bômos d' ho taphos, pro goôn de mnastis, ho d' oiktos epainos: entaphion de toiouton out' eurôs outh' ho pandamatôr amaurôsei chronos. andrôn agathôn hode sakos oiketan eudoxian Hellados heileto: martyrei de Leônidas, ho Spartas basileus, aretas megan leloipôs kosmon aenaon te kleos.] Of those who fell at far Thermopylae, Fair is the fate and high the destiny: Their tomb an altar, memory for tears And praise for lamentation through the years. On such a monument comes no decay, And Time that conquers all takes not away Their greatness: for this holy Sepulchre Of valiant men has called to dwell with her The glory of all Greece. Bear witness, Sparta's king, Leonidas! thy ever-flowing spring Of fame and the high beauty of thy deed! There is a kindred note echoing through the popular catch in praise of the tyrannicides, Harmodius and Aristogeiton, one of the first bits of Greek that Tennyson made his sons learn: [Greek: en myrtou kladi to xiphos phorêsô, hôsper Harmodios kai Aristogeitôn, hote ton tyrannon ktanetên isonomous t' Athênas epoiêsatên.] In myrtle I wreathe my sword As they wreathed it, the brave, Brave Harmodius, Aristogeiton, When they slew the oppressor, the lord, And to Athens her freedom gave. Mr. Dakyns must have rejoiced in a spirit that could feed boys on such gallant stuff as this. From Goethe he would have selected the noble proem to Faust: Ihr naht Euch wieder, schwankende Gestalten, for there was a note among his papers to that effect. And there is one note about Béranger (written in a letter): It was he too who introduced me to Béranger, _e.g._ "Le Roi d'Yvetot," and the refrain: